3.05.2013

used.

being used is never pleasurable or desirable. those bruised lips and messy hair never looked good on anyone. you lose a bit of dignity every time...even if it was just kissing.

they were kisses that didn't mean anything to either parties. hungry lips never stopped to ask questions or establish feelings, and after the thrill dies down you feel a bit emptier than you did before. you spill what you have been bottling up onto another person who doesn't matter to you. soon enough it becomes a habit, instead of an act of affection and love.

i miss the kisses that mean something.
i miss the tender ones, and those lingering eyes.

now all i have is these passionless lips and faceless people. they don't care. they're just chasing after their lust. i hate the mutual agreement that goes unacknowledged between these shared glances and easy lips. these lips have gotten me into trouble with myself.

i hate having to pick my pride up off the floor, and i hate the feeling of easiness that accompanies me.

why have i slipped into this habitual coma?
i want to break the cycle that has become my life.

the only person i am hurting is myself. this is where the unashamed conform to guilt and disappointment.